


Hocus Pocus

by GalacticDavey



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Body Horror, Car Accident, Cult activity, M/M, Witchcraft, demonic (?) possession, shiro is a big idiot when he gets a crush and just pines away, surprise limb loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticDavey/pseuds/GalacticDavey
Summary: Takashi Shirogane had been a normal graduate student... Until a cult knocked him out and replaced his right arm with a vessel to hold their deity. Now it's a race against time for Shiro to keep his body, and he has to enlist the help of a witch to do it.





	1. New

**Author's Note:**

> This is my SRB that I did with  Andy ! Writing this AU has been lit, and I hope y'all will have as much fun with it as I did.

 

 

 

Shiro stared at the shop, as if by glaring hard enough he could will it away, will himself back to a time—literally three days ago—when his life had been normal. Now, as he stood outside the local magic shop, with his new and mysterious prosthesis fused to his bicep, he had to acknowledge that not only was his entire world beyond Weird™ at this point, but it was only bound to get weirder.

...And he wasn’t going to change that by just standing outside Marmora and staring like a creep. He heaved a sigh and pushed open the door, the tinkling bells chiming overhead as he entered more cheerful than he had expected, and the scent of incense immediately washing over him, strong and sweet.

The interior itself was also different than he expected: warm, almost  _ homey _ , just cluttered enough to look comfortable without feeling messy. To his right was a row of bookshelves, lined with titles such as  _ Palmistry _ ,  _ The Healing Power of Crystals _ , and  _ Introduction to Runes _ , as well as spell books of all kinds; love spells, protection spells, spells for Sabbats (which, upon inspection, he learned were basically witch’s holidays), spells for good fortune, the list went on and on. If he hadn’t come here with a goal in mind—and if he ever would have entered willingly otherwise—he probably could have spent hours at the bookshelves alone.

On the left, there were glass cases displaying different stones—from common to precious—with little label placards that explained what they were and what they were for. Next to that was jewelry; necklaces, rings, earrings, bracelets, anklets… It looked like this  _ Keith _ person had it all, and they looked handmade. It seemed the owner was a man of many talents.

In the middle were a few tables and shelves stacked with different boxes of tarot cards (as well as a selection of pretty satchels to store them in), spirit boards, a display of pendulums, ornate trinket boxes, candles, jars of herbs… Shiro wasn’t exactly sheltered, he’d heard of witchcraft and he’d seen movies—granted, those probably weren’t the greatest source of information—but he couldn’t even begin to imagine what some of these things were for, and his skeptical scientist brain was absolutely fucking imploding with this overload of metaphysical paraphernalia.

“You need help finding something?”

Shiro turned toward the voice, coming from over by what appeared to be the checkout counter, if the cash register (an antique, cute) was any indication, and a young man stepping out of a back room, hidden from patrons’ sight by a violet curtain.

“Uh,” Shiro replied eloquently, “I’m looking for the owner?”

The man raised one brow, brushing messy bangs from his eyes. “That’d be me.”

“Oh.”

He had, honestly, been expecting someone...well,  _ older _ , but Keith was surprisingly young—younger than Shiro, even, if he had to guess.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Shiro approached the counter, clearing his throat. “Sorry. I guess I was expecting…” Keith’s brow raised a little higher (but there was the faintest hint of a smile quirking at the corners of his lips. “Nevermind. Someone told me you might be able to help me…” His flesh hand wandered to his unfamiliar arm, and Keith’s sharp eyes followed the movement, lips parting slightly as he looked over the strange prosthesis.

Any amusement faded from Keith’s eyes, and Shiro’s dread grew tenfold. “You certainly need it.”

Shiro wasn’t sure he wanted to know what he meant.

 

***

 

Just a few days previously, Takashi Shirogane had been your average graduate student; he had a thesis to plug away at that sometimes made him want to cry, a taste for strong coffee that bordered on an addiction, an intro-level astronomy course to teach, and two flesh arms that he was rather attached to, neither of which were possessed by demons.

The spring semester was nearing its end, and all he’d wanted was to take a break from preparing for exams. It just so happened that Professor Holt had  _ personally _ given him the location of his favorite stargazing spot (Shiro had a hard time containing his fanboying as he thought about it), the directions scrawled onto an index card. It was a few miles outside of Garrison, away from the lights of the town.

So, after a long day of grading papers and studying, the sun had set and the sky was clear, Shiro decided he’d go have a look at the stars, Professor Holt’s note tucked safely in his pocket as he packed up his telescope.

It was a perfect night—the sky was clear, and visibility would be ideal.  _ Thank you, new moon! _

All he knew was that there was a hill just a little way off of some hiking path on the outskirts of Garrison (like,  _ way _ on the outskirts, to minimize light pollution). In retrospect, it wasn’t a great idea to try to navigate these directions for the first time in almost complete darkness.  _ Fuck you, new moon! _

The flashlight on his phone helped, at least, though Professor Holt’s directions left a lot of detail to be desired. Nevertheless, he pressed on, because Takashi Shirogane did not quit, even when he really, really should. He probably should have turned around when he first heard the strange noises in the woods, sounding almost like  _ voices _ in between the trees, sending the hair at the back of his neck standing on end. The sounds were so quiet that he could easily write it off as nothing, just regular forest noises, just his imagination getting away from him in the dark...

The group of chanting people in robes, though, slowed him down a little. Then had him turning on his heel because, was it super stereotypical? Yes. Was it probably a bunch of teenagers playing a prank? Also yes. Was it still spooky as fuck?  _ Hell yes _ , and he had wanted to see stars, not get murdered by a cult (or scared by a bunch of kids, for that matter).

A twig snapped under his foot, the group behind him falling silent, and he broke into a run. His phone lit the way just fine, but finding his way back to the hiking trail was going to be, he already knew, a goddamn miracle with the meandering path he had taken in his efforts to follow Holt’s directions. He ran in the general direction he thought it was and hoped for the best, narrowly avoiding tree roots as he tried to determine if there were footsteps behind him or if it was just his imagination. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder to make sure.

He stumbled onto the path, but he didn’t have any time to feel relieved about finding it, taking off down the path toward his car and trying to fumble for the key fob in his pocket as he did so. Thankfully, ROTC training made him more than capable of outrunning weird folks in cloaks, cult members and pranksters alike, and he slid into his car and locked the doors before anyone could catch up to him. He didn’t wait to see if there even  _ was _ anyone chasing him, though he didn’t need to—as he started his car, his headlights outlined shapes just beyond the trees, hooded figures clustered just far enough out of range of the lights that he could make them out without seeing them clearly.

Shiro didn’t dwell on it, throwing his car into reverse and slamming on the gas, backing onto the road.

In retrospect, he could have at least checked his rearview mirror, however  _ distracted _ he might have been by his near-escape.

Before he knew it, his rear window was all bright headlights, and his world was the spin of inertia and gravity. Shiro realizes, sort of distantly, that he’s upside down—his car flipped, and it was skidding across pavement and gravel. He barely had time to wonder if he was going to die before the car comes to an abrupt stop, and his head smacks into the door.

 

***

 

Waking up was...a strange process. At first, he was only confused. The typical  _ ‘Where am I? How did I get here?’ _ internal monologue.

Then, the panic set in.

There was something about not remembering how you got from point A to point B that sent the cortisol skyrocketing. And just when he’d started to talk himself down from that panic,  _ It’ll come back in a few minutes, you just have to calm down and focus, that’s all _ , he caught sight of his arm.

Or, at least, where his right arm used to be.

Now, there was metal, metal that had been carefully crafted to look like an arm, though it didn’t look like any prosthesis Shiro had ever seen. He followed it upward with his eyes, right where it connected to his bicep, almost like it had been fused there.

He was almost positive that wasn’t standard practice.

Naturally, he screamed, and naturally, nurses flocked into the room at the outburst; though one in particular pushed through the rest, shooing them out of the room before turning his attention to Shiro.

“Mr. Shirogane,” he said firmly, “take deep breaths. You’re safe. My name is Ulaz, and I’ll be taking care of you.”

“My arm,” he said, desperately, his voice a hoarse rasp.

“‘Your arm,’ indeed,” the nurse said gravely. “You’re the talk of the hospital, Mr. Shirogane.”

That was...cryptic. “What happened?”

“A car accident was reported this morning at…” Ulaz glanced at the clipboard by Shiro’s bed. “About one a.m. Neither drivers were present at the scene, and it’s estimated that the accident occured at sometime around midnight.” He remembered now, the way headlights had filled his vision. “Emergency services searched the scene, but they only managed to find you.” As he spoke, he began taking Shiro’s vitals, his hands firm but gentle, grounding. “Somehow, you’d made your way into the woods. When they found you, your arm was,” he gestured to the prosthesis. “Of course, they had no idea you’d only just lost it, since it was so cleanly healed.”

Shiro stared, brows furrowed. “You know something.” Ulaz gazed at him for a moment before he continued checking Shiro’s vitals.

“I do.” He tapped lightly on Shiro’s right arm. “This is no normal prosthetic arm, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed. And you didn’t lose it in that car accident, either.”

What the fuck.  _ What the fuck _ . His gut was heavy with dread. “What do you mean?”

“All your other injuries sustained during the crash have healed at an alarming rate,” Ulaz continued, as if he hadn’t heard Shiro at all. “In fact, you’ll most likely be discharged today. As for the arm,” he marked a few notes on the clipboard. “I know someone who may be able to help you.”

“Help me?” He repeated, already tired of this game—was it really so hard to just tell him what was going on?

“Trust me, you’ll want it.” Ulaz scrawled something onto a slip of paper and then passed it to Shiro. It was an address. “The shop owner’s name is Keith. Tell him that Ulaz sent you.”

 

***

 

Once Shiro got home and could look up the address, he couldn’t help but laugh, almost hysterically.

His nurse was trying to send him to a  _ witch. _

He’d been in Garrison long enough that he’d picked up a few of the local legends and rumors, and he’d heard plenty about the Marmora. It was a fairly new shop, had only opened a year or two ago, if he remembered correctly, and had garnered quite a reputation. Plenty of people (particularly Shiro’s social circle) regarded it as a hoax, but there were stories circulating about the owner being a Genuine Witch.

But that was fucking ridiculous.

Shiro promptly closed out of Google Maps and misplaced Ulaz’s note, and put the entire exchange out of his mind. The new arm was... _ weird _ , that was for sure, and he had a lot of questions, but he wasn’t about to go to some con artist to try and get answers.

But he changed his mind when it started to develop a mind of its own. As it turned out, it was really hard to teach a class of freshman when your right arm started throwing everything it could reach, or ripping doors off their hinges.

Having a mysterious new arm was one thing, and Shiro could deal with it, looking for an explanation on his own time, but this was something that he needed handled,  _ stat _ , and since he didn’t have any  _ scientific _ explanation to go on…

Well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

So, he caved and went to Marmora, only to deal with the same cryptic bullshit as Ulaz gave him.

“Can anyone give me some kind of straight answer about what the hell is going on, or is being mysterious and vague part of your job description?”

Keith was already striding over, not giving Shiro any time to feel bad about snapping at him, and didn’t hesitate to take Shiro’s arm and begin examining it more closely. “Yes.”

“...To...to which?”

“Look, I’m going to level with you,” Keith said, fiddling with the hinges on Shiro’s fingers. “I don’t really  _ have _ a solid explanation for you at the moment. All I know is that this arm is putting off some  _ wicked _ energy.” He continued to examine the arm, leaning in to inspect where it attached to Shiro’s flesh, so close that Shiro could have counted his freckles. He whistled lowly. “This is some incredible craftsmanship. Whoever did this to you, it wasn’t something they slapped together. It was planned.” He traced the seam of metal and skin. “And whatever spell they used to attach it is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. You have full control of it?” Shiro nodded, and Keith whistled again. “Man, if I could figure out that spell, it could totally revolutionize prostheses…” After a few more moments of looking Shiro over—well, just the arm, really, Keith remembered himself and took a decent step back, clearing his throat bashfully. “Sorry. I get a little...enthusiastic. Why don’t you come to the back,” he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, at the door he’d emerged from just a few minutes before. “We can sit down, and you can tell me what happened.”

Shiro followed Keith toward the back of the store. “You might be a little disappointed—I was unconscious whenever the, uh, actual...arm switch happened.”

Keith hummed. “Well, tell me what you  _ do _ know. It might still help.” He pushed open the curtain, and Shiro followed him into the back room.

If he’d thought the shop itself was impressive, the back room was something else entirely (as well as significantly less organized).

There were more bookshelves, filled with books and scrolls, and the ones that wouldn’t fit are stacked on top of the others or on the floor. There’s a work desk of some kind, littered with papers, crystals, pens, with a cork board behind it plastered with notes and sketches. There are more shelves lined with bottles, labels slapped onto them haphazardly. On a table in the corner, a cauldron was simmering on a hot plate.

“What’s this,” Shiro asked, leaning over to investigate. “Some sort of potion?”  
“Oh, no, that’s mac and cheese. I was hungry.” As if to demonstrate, Keith scooped some of the pasta into a bowl, sitting down at the table to eat. “Want some?”

When had his life become such a joke? “Uh. No, thanks.” Keith shrugged as if to say  _ suit yourself _ before digging in. “So, about the arm…?”

Keith nodded, swallowing his mouthful of food. “Right. Well, like I said, it’s got some magical energy around it that I don’t recognize at all. I think I can help you, but I’ll have to look into whatever kind of magic this is more before I can totally fix it. What I  _ can _ tell you for sure, though, is that it’s possessed.”

Shiro would have launched himself into the sun if he could have.


	2. Waxing

Shiro could only sit stunned as Keith continued to fiddle around with his arm. It was alarmingly like a visit to the doctor—if it weren’t for all the witchy paraphernalia surrounding them. He was sitting at Keith’s table, his arm resting next to the now empty bowl of macaroni and cheese, while Keith investigated his arm, prodding at it with a number of tools.

Keith was muttering to himself, and occasionally jotting down notes in a small notepad. “Who in the hell  _ made _ this thing, it’s beautiful. Professional work, for sure, but I don’t recognize it, so definitely not any of the local witches…”

“What, do you all know each other or something?”

“We get together fairly often, and we celebrate the Sabbats together, so we’re pretty familiar with one another.” He hardly even looked up from his tinkering, tongue peeking out between his lips in concentration. Shiro’s cheeks grew warm, and he glanced away. “And this definitely isn’t any of  _ their _ doing. Though I could have told you that just from seeing how it was done. Snatching survivors from accidents isn’t exactly the modus operandi of anybody I know.” He made a soft noise of satisfaction as he found the seam for one of the panels of the prosthesis and began work with a teeny tiny screwdriver.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Well,” Keith muttered, only half paying attention as he focused on the task at hand, “I’m not sure. Any clue of what’s going on, really.” He opened up the panel, but immediately snapped it shut again when a loud scream came from inside the arm. “Huh. That’s interesting.”

Shiro couldn’t even be surprised anymore, really.

“Probably just something to scare people from meddling around with it,” Keith continued, slowly opening the panel again. This time, it was quiet.

“Progress,” Shiro quipped, and Keith smiled, though he didn’t look up from what he was doing.

“Exactly.”

He peered into the arm along with Keith—he was no engineer, but he could tell that the mechanisms in place inside the arm weren’t anywhere near complex enough for it to work as well as it did. The only explanation was...well…

He couldn’t complete the thought, a sudden wave of nausea overwhelming him.

Keith was more intrigued by writing on the inside of the panel, snapping a few pictures on his phone before glancing up at Shiro again. “You okay? You’re really pale…”

Shiro shook his head, not quite able to find words as he was wracked with shudders. A sudden, searing pain pierced through his arm, from where the prosthesis attached. Keith reached out to steady him, and his hands were like ice on his skin.

“Holy shit, you’re hot.”

“Thanks?”

“No, I mean you’re burning up.”

“Oh, sor—FUCK!” He doubled over as the pain spread up to his shoulder, then his neck.

Keith swore sharply, staring at him. Shiro looked down at his arm and—

It had changed. The fingers were tipped with claws, and it was  _ glowing _ .

“What’s happening?”

“It’s—changing you,” Keith said, still frozen in place. His eyes darted around the room before settling on the salt shaker. He snatched it up, unscrewed the top, and generously seasoned the prosthesis and Shiro’s right shoulder and face. “Sorry, sorry. Salt should, uh, hold it off while I get a marker.” That seemed to be the case—it still hurt, but the spread of the pain had stopped for now. As Keith began rifling through the contents of his desk, Shiro glanced to the side, at a mirror on one of the nearby bookshelves, and blinked at his reflection.

His right eye was completely yellow, and there were violet lines spiderwebbing from the prosthesis over his shoulder, up his neck, and onto his face.

Keith returned quickly with a paint marker, and began writing directly onto the prosthesis.

“What’s that?”

“Sigils. To keep whatever is in this arm sealed up.” He glanced up from his work. “This is a bit more urgent than I thought.”

“That seems like an understatement.”

“I’m going to do what I can to figure this out as fast as possible,” Keith continued, capping the marker and blowing on the paint to help it dry. Shiro watched the violet marks slowly recede back toward the prosthesis. “In the meantime, I’ll need you here as often as possible so I can make sure this stays under control.”

Shiro was significantly less opposed to that idea than he would have been, initially. “I guess I can bring homework and stuff…”

“Good,” Keith patted his cheek. “Getting possessed would probably interfere with exams.”

“Probably,” Shiro replied, a bit glumly.

Keith gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll have you back to normal in no time. Go home and get some rest, but make sure you come back tomorrow. Okay?”

He nodded—it wasn’t like he really had much of a choice, if he didn’t want to end up possessed by...whatever the hell was trapped inside this arm.

“And don’t mess with the paint. It’ll flake off.”

“Noted,” he mumbled with a nod, standing up. “I guess I’ll go.”

“I’ll start asking around, see if anybody has any idea what the deal is with...this,” he gestured at Shiro’s right side. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Shiro echoed, not quite able to muster any enthusiasm.

When he left, he didn’t notice the person watching him from across the street.

 

***

 

This wasn’t how he wanted to spend his weekend. Shiro allowed himself a moment to pout before entering Marmora. He was greeted by a curious Maine Coon—the cat looked distinctly unimpressed, and made a soft chuffing sound before trotting away to the back room. Without anything better to do, he adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and followed the cat to the back of the shop, peeking around the doorway before entering. Might as well try to be polite.

“Hey, Keith.”

“Morning, Shiro,” Keith’s voice called back. “Come on in. I see you met Red.” He approached the table, where Keith was waiting with two mugs, a Hello Kitty kettle warming up on the hot plate. The cat, Red, was already curled up happily on its owner’s lap. “Would you like coffee or tea?”

What he really needed was some hard liquor, but he kept that to himself. “Coffee sounds great, thanks.”

Keith was still in his pajamas, hair a little messy from sleep. He must have just woken up.  _ Not cute not cute not cute. _ He took the seat across from him, setting his backpack on the floor. “Homework?”

“Yeah, figured I could get some work done while I’m here.”

“What’s your major?” Keith asked as the kettle whistled. He poured each of their drinks—coffee into Shiro’s cup, and tea into his own. He was almost surprised, but then remembered that tea and coffee from the same kettle wasn’t even the weirdest thing he’d seen over the last week, and just added cream and sugar to his mug, almost blithely.

“Astrophysics,” he answered. “I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut, but they aren’t really sending people into space anymore, so learning about space is close enough.” He glanced up briefly, then did a double-take; Keith was staring at him with eyes the size of dinner plates. “What?”

“That’s really cool,” Keith replied. “I love space.”

“Do you, uh,” Shiro tried not to laugh, “do any of that astrology stuff?”

To his surprise, Keith actually laughed. “No! Star charts are stupidly complicated, there’s no way I’d spend that much time and effort on something I don’t even buy into.”

This time it was Shiro’s turn to laugh. “You’re a witch, and you don’t believe in astrology?”

“It doesn’t make sense! Like, your birth date is supposed to determine your personality? I don’t get it.” He shook his head. “Granted, I think it adds a little more nuance when you start getting into like, your moon sign and rising sign—” He cut himself off, a little bashfully. “The point is, I don’t put much stock into it. It’s cool and all, I’ve got a few friends who are really into it, but it’s not for me.” He took a sip of his tea. “ _ Palm reading _ on the other hand? Totally real.”

Shiro nearly snorted out his coffee. “You’re the professional,” he teased with a shake of his head.

“So, you’re a man of science,” Keith said, grinning over his mug. “All this must seem pretty silly, huh?” Shiro coughed, and shrugged.

“It did at first, but uh,” he flexed his metal fingers, “recent events have made me a bit more of a believer, I guess.”

“Hard to deny what’s right in front of your face,” Keith agreed. “Or attached to your shoulder, as it were.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Keith finished the rest of his tea and stood up, Red meowing as she jumped to the floor, annoyed. “I’m going to finish getting ready. Make yourself comfortable.” He watched Keith make his way to another door on the other side of the room, which opened up to a flight of stairs. He must live in the apartment above the shop. Convenient.

He pulled his laptop from his bookbag and booted it up, determined to be productive if he had to hang out here for the time being. With any luck, Keith would be able to come up with something to do about this arm.

Then again, he’d had his arm stolen and replaced with a demonic vessel (or whatever), so maybe  _ luck _ wasn’t what he should be hoping for.

He got to work on marking his students’ homework as he waited for Keith, Red watching him from his spot on the floor. It was sort of unsettling, but Shiro did his best to ignore it. After about half an hour, Keith returned, fully dressed and hair still damp from his shower.

“Good news,” Keith said, walking back over to the table. “I got a call from an old friend of mine. He says he might have an idea of what’s going on.”

“Really? That’s great!” Shiro replied, visibly relieved.

“Don’t get too excited,” Keith warned. “He also says he’s not sure how to fix it.” Shiro’s face fell. “But any information we can get will help us get closer. Rome wasn’t built overnight.”

He thought about correcting his metaphor, but decided against it.

“He’ll be in later, so just sit tight until he gets here.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Good,” Keith nodded. “I’m going to hang up front in case anyone comes in. Feel free to read anything on the shelves if you want a break from studying, but probably best not to mess with any of the potions. Don’t want you to turn into a frog or something.”

Shiro stared at him, trying to determine if he was joking. “Can you actually do that?”

“Don’t mess with the potions and you won’t find out.”

 

***

 

Two hours drifted away, studying and listening to the soft sounds of the shop. Being here was...actually more relaxing than he’d like to admit. Maybe having to hang out here for the foreseeable future wouldn’t be so bad, after all, at least in terms of his academic progress. The arm thing was still pretty bad.

Finally, Keith poked his head into the back, smiling. “Hey, he’s here. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Shiro deadpanned, quickly saving his work before shutting his laptop.

And then he was staring at the very same nurse who had urged him to come here in the first place.

“Ulaz?” He began, incredulously. Ulaz nodded, grimacing slightly. “You’re the one who—who might know what’s happening?” Another nod. “Why didn’t you say anything in the first place?”

Keith glanced between them with a raised brow. “You two know each other.”

“I cared for him briefly while he was in the hospital,” Ulaz explained. “I was the one who told him that he should come to you for help.” Keith was frowning now, his arms crossed. “I can explain, I promise. It’s...a bit of a long story.”

“Then I guess you’d better start talking.”

Keith was—well, maybe not  _ pissed _ . Definitely not happy, though. “Then I guess you’d better start talking.”

Ulaz, it seemed, was used to Keith’s temper, or at least unphased by it. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Shiro.” He paused. “Or you, Keith. And for that, I apologize.” Keith’s face was stony. Angry for sure, now. “Shiro, I do know who gave you that arm. I admit, I...didn’t make the connection right away. At the time when I was in contact with the people in question, this,” he gestured toward Shiro, to his arm, “was only the vaguest of blueprints. It wasn’t exactly stealing limbs, but just a general idea to...to plant a vessel of some kind on or in someone’s body.”

“A vessel,” Keith repeated, voice like ice (he was better off than Shiro, at any rate, who couldn’t manage to find his voice at all). “For what?”

“I’ll get there,” Ulaz reassured. “First things first, this vessel was forced on you by a very particular coven, one that has been operating secretly in Garrison for some time, as well as outside of it, called Galra.”

“How do you even know all of this?” Shiro finally managed to ask, and Ulaz winced before glancing away.

“A long time ago, I was part of them.”

Keith sits down heavily in his chair. “You said you’d always practiced alone.”

“I have very good reasons for not being forthcoming with my involvement.”

“You  _ lied _ to me.”

“Let me finish,” Ulaz said, almost in a scolding tone. To Shiro’s surprise, Keith slumped back in his chair, almost...sulking. “The Galra worship a particular god, one you’d be hard-pressed to find any information on outside of their sects. They call him Zarkon, and his goal is to gain dominion over all things.”

Shiro didn’t like where this was going.

“Efforts were made long, long ago to wipe this particular god out of human memory, because of how dangerous he is. A few managed to hold onto and pass down his history, so worship of him survived, and has grown. The Galra are dedicated to bringing Zarkon into power so that he can become the powerful god he once was.” He paused. “However, this would require finding him a way to enter our physical world. He needs a host.” His eyes slide over to Shiro. “And that, unfortunately, is where you come in.”

Shiro dropped his magical-vessel-prosthesis under the table, almost self-consciously. “So there’s a god in my arm?”

“Essentially, yes,” Ulaz nodded gravely. “Though I think there are many, more apt terms for a being like Zarkon.”

“How did you even get mixed up in all of this?” Keith asked—there was no judgement in the question, but something raw. Frightened, almost. Ulaz didn’t answer for a long moment.

“The high priestess,” he began, softly, “said that Zarkon saved her son. Someone I knew was very ill, and I thought—” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do, that I had found the right path to follow. Over time, however, I learned that I was wrong, and that Zarkon only ever did anything ‘good’ to further his own agenda.” He sighed. “I was excommunicated very shortly after this discovery, along with a few others. And we...we still talk to a few people who are ‘on the inside,’ even though they aren’t supposed to have any contact with us. Correspondence is often brief and infrequent, but they tell us what they can.” Ulaz turned to Shiro once more. “I had my suspicions when I first saw your arm, but yesterday one of my contacts within the Galra told me that they’d found a survivor of a car wreck and that he’d survived the attachment of the vessel. Apparently, that alone is quite a feat.”

Shiro’s mouth went dry. “How many people did they try it on before me?” Ulaz could only shrug.

“That, I don’t know,” he admitted solemnly.

“Well, how many people have come into the hospital missing arms?” Keith asked.

“They use a different vessel each time,” Ulaz explained. “I couldn’t tell you who were victims of the Galra and who were merely in unfortunate accidents. They’ve been quite sneaky about the whole thing.”

Shiro sank back into his chair, staring into empty space. He didn’t have the words. What had started off as something fucked up had grown into something exponentially more fucked up—cults? Summoning gods, or demons, or  _ whatever _ —and people  _ dying _ in the process?

He clenched and unclenched his fist, but the motion did little to soothe him—he couldn’t feel it. The arm that attached to him wasn’t his, in more ways than he’d ever thought it could be.

It was a cult’s arm. It was some kind of powerful being’s arm. He was just a slab of meat for them to use. A pawn in a really big, fucked up game of chess.

Ulaz left shortly after, with promises to return soon, and that he would help them figure this out.

“I know a thing or two about the way the Galra do magic,” he’d said. “I’m sure I can help find a way to reverse it.”

Then he was gone, and it was just him and Keith, who was lost in his own thoughts.

“How do you, uh—” Shiro began, desperate for something, anything else to think about. He just needed to break the silence. “How do you know Ulaz?” Keith blinked, coming out of his head.

“He and the other witches in town, they were all friends of my mom. When my dad left, they took me in. They’re all like my family.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t believe Ulaz lied to me.”

Oh boy. “I mean, try not to be too mad at him. Everyone does stuff they aren’t proud of, and would rather not, you know. Tell their kids. Adopted or otherwise.” Keith’s face didn’t get any less tense, but he nods after a moment.

“I guess so. Anyway,” he sighed, “now we’ve got something to work with, at least. And I promise,” Shiro started as he took his left hand in his own, squeezing it. Then, after a short moment of thought, he took the right one, too. “I promise we’re going to figure this out. You’re going to be okay.”

Maybe it was foolish, but there was a fire in Keith’s eyes that he couldn’t help but believe in.

“I know,” he said, and managed a smile. “I trust you.”


	3. Full

Shiro continued coming to the shop after his classes all ended for the day, usually studying while Keith puttered around the back room, flipping through books and mixing herbs in jars and—

Look, Shiro still had no idea what was going on. Magic, presumably, but he could really only guess at what Keith was actually  _ doing _ at any given moment. He could just be making dinner again, for all Shiro knew, but with how vehement he’d been about fixing things, he had a feeling that Keith was really buckling down and doing some studying of his own.

“Ulaz said he can come over tonight, after he gets off work, and he’ll take a closer look at your arm,” Keith said, peering at a jar of a dark, viscous liquid before placing it back on the shelf and investigating the next one. “Hopefully he’ll come up with some idea of how to get whatsisname out of your arm, since he’s apparently got  _ experience _ .”

He got the sense that Keith was still a little peeved about Ulaz not telling him he was part of some kind of super secret coven trying to raise a near-dead god to take over the entire universe. He supposed he couldn’t blame him—but still, he could see Ulaz’s side of things, too.

He wasn’t about to lecture his witch...friend? Acquaintance? Doctor? About holding grudges, and instead opted to change the subject. “What are you looking for?”

“Trying to mix up something to better seal off the arm. The sigils are holding up fine, but I was in a hurry so I didn’t really get to charge any really strong ones, and I’d like to get something together before he breaks those. And if he’s as strong as Ulaz said, he  _ will _ break those.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Don’t worry,” Keith reassured. “I’ll get it taken care of before that happens.”

Shiro let him continue, silent, staring at his open textbook without really seeing. After a moment, Keith was at his side, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“You cool with letting me see your arm for a sec?”

He blinked. “Uh, yeah, of course. You don’t really have to ask.”

Keith flushed, and shrugged. “I mean. I guess we’re sort of in between a rock and a hard place as far as touching your arm goes,” gently, he took Shiro’s bicep in hand and began lightly applying a thick paste directly along the seam where his prosthesis/demon vessel attached to his skin. “I know I like a heads up, at least, before people touch me, and I haven’t really been extending the same courtesy. I, uh.” He paused, searching for words. “I don’t want this to be a whole lot of me doing stuff you don’t understand. You at least deserve to know what’s going on, since you’re sort of...stuck in this whole situation.”

“Thanks.” Keith glanced up at him, and Shiro smiled, warm and genuine. “Really. That actually means a lot to me. I’ve felt...a little lost, through a lot of this, so…” It was his turn to shrug. “I know it’s sort of important that you be able to do what you need to to keep things in check, but I appreciate your consideration.”

Keith looked stunned for a moment, and then quickly went back to what he was doing, clearing his throat. “Yeah, well, it’s no big deal or anything.” Once satisfied with his work, he let go of Shiro’s arm. “Just let that dry for a few minutes.” With that, Keith hurried away, and Shiro swore that the tips of the witch’s ears were tinged pink.

 

***

 

When Ulaz finally arrived, he wasn’t alone. There were two other people with him, who identified themselves as Thace and Kolivan.

“They were also a part of the Galra, and like me have been excommunicated by the coven. They’ve agreed to help out as much as they can.”

It was only two more than originally planned, but Shiro hadn’t been expecting more people, and he especially hadn’t anticipated the way they would fuss over him like a spectacle instead of a human being in peril. He supposed it wasn’t every day that people got to see an arm with a demon—or whatever—trapped inside, so he couldn’t say he  _ blamed _ them, but it sure was getting tiring to be gawked at and talked over.

Keith at least seemed to have some sympathy. He shooed them out around sunset, telling them that was enough for one day, and they all needed to rest. Shiro remained slumped in his chair at the table, exhausted.

“Sorry,” Keith murmured, after the other witches had gone. “You looked like you could use a break.”

He managed a weak smile. “I really appreciate all of their help.” Keith nodded, smiling a bit himself.

“It’s a lot, though, I get it.” There was a long pause, and he cleared his throat. “You know, it’s pretty late. Do you want to just stay for dinner?”

Shiro blinked, the cogs in his head halting as he analyzed the question again and again. “Uh. Sure. Yeah.”

“Cool.” He turned and disappeared up the stairs. A few moments passed before his head popped around the door. “Are you coming?”

“Oh!” Shiro fumbled to grab his backpack as he stood up, and smiled bashfully as he followed Keith—upstairs. Hanging out in his shop was one thing, but now he was being invited into his  _ home _ .

Keith pushed open the door to the apartment, Shiro following him inside. It was...tidier than he expected. Or, no, not tidy. Sort of empty, really. There was a futon, and a makeshift coffee table that was just a couple of crates with a board overtop. To the right was a small kitchen, a few dishes sitting in a drying rack and a kettle sitting next to the stove. There were, of course, a number of bookshelves, a few knick-knacks and photos displayed here and there (he noticed a few of Keith as a child, which people who must have been his parents, though he thought better of prying too much—he got the vibe that Keith wasn’t one to do a lot of  _ sharing _ . There were also a few more recent ones of him with Ulaz, Thace, and Kolivan, along with other people he hadn’t met, but who he could only assume were more of the Other Witches in the area that Keith talked about), but still, compared to the shop and the back room downstairs, it seemed pretty sparse.

One thing  _ did _ catch his eye, though, and he grinned. He turned to Keith with a raised brow, tapping on an astrology book on the nearest shelf. “I thought you didn’t ‘buy’ this stuff?”

Keith scowled, but Shiro didn’t miss the faint flush on his cheeks. “You’re a man of science—you should know the merit of  _ trying _ something before deciding it doesn’t work?”

“Your aura is very defensive right now, I’m not sure I can deal with that kind of negative energy right now.” Keith laughed, covering his face to muffle the faint snorts and  _ Jesus could he get any cuter? Shiro was dying. He was dead. Deceased. _

“I’m really going to turn you into a frog,” he managed, after he’d stopped laughing. “No one should be this comfortable making fun of a witch.”

“I’ve got a thing for tempting fate, I guess.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” Keith snarked, making his way over to the fridge and pulling it open, while throwing a devastating smirk Shiro’s way. “I think the word I would use is ‘idiot.’”

“Semantics.”

Keith shook his head, still smiling, and held up two bottles. “Do you drink beer?”

“If I didn’t before, the last week would have certainly driven me to it.” Keith opened the bottles with a flick of his fingers, pausing as a faint scratching began at the apartment door.

“That’ll be Red,” he said, nodding at an insistent meow. “Let her in for me?” Shiro barely had the door open when a ball of fur streaked between his legs and out of sight. “Don’t take it personally. Takes her a while to warm up to people. Like witch, like familiar, I suppose.” Shiro raised an eyebrow, but decided not to ask the obvious question, and opted for something a little more harmless, and that wouldn’t involve prodding at whatever walls Keith had up.

“So, what is it with witches and cats?”

“Familiars can be any animal, really. I know someone who has a snake. I just happen to like cats.” He passed the beer bottle to Shiro, taking a sip of his own.

“Tell me if I ask too many questions.”

“I will. Until then, ask away.”

“Okay,” Shiro took his own sip of beer—it had a heavier, more sour taste than what he’d usually go for, but who was he to complain? “Familiars?”

Keith smiled a little, glancing over his shoulder as he started opening up cabinets, and pulled down a pan. “Well, like any pet, they provide companionship. But the bond between a witch and their familiar is very,” he paused. “I mean, it’s very, very different from the usual master-pet thing. Red… she’s in my head, you know? We can communicate. Familiars are also a source of energy—like a magic battery.”

“Energy? You can’t just...do magic?”

“Doing small stuff on our own is fine,” Keith explained. “We sort of—draw energy from our surroundings. But when we get to bigger stuff, it can be difficult and  _ really _ draining to practice alone. That’s why some witches work in covens, too.” Shiro hummed, nodding. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

Fair enough. “Go for it.”

Keith studied the content of one of his cabinets, lips pursed in thought. “This  _ will _ impact my opinion of you, Shirogane.” He gave Shiro the most deadpan, serious look. “Do you like spicy food?”

Shiro blinked, stunned. “Yes?” Keith smiled.

“Good man. I’m making curry, and I don’t like to fuck around with my curry.”

“I can respect that.”

 

***

 

Keith did  _ not _ fuck around with his curry. Even the next day, Shiro swore he could still feel the back of his tongue tingling from how spicy it was.

Shiro had accused him of using magic on his cooking, and Keith had only laughed.

…Pain aside, it  _ was _ delicious curry. But what was better than that was the roof of Keith’s apartment—or rather, the roof of the shop below that was easily accessed through a window in Keith’s apartment, where they had sat, maybe had a little more beer than necessary, and talked late into the night. Later than he had planned—and maybe later than Keith had, too, for that matter, though Shiro didn’t dare ask.

They took turns pointing out constellations, and now and then, face flushed from (Shiro assumed) the alcohol, Keith had taken Shiro’s right hand into his own (after asking permission, of course), just gently, to examine it. Not in the way he had been in the shop, when he was trying to figure out what the fuck to  _ do _ about it but just...casually.

Shiro swore he could feel the warmth of his fingers through the metal.

“...Earth to Shiro.”

He snapped to attention, staring into curious brown eyes. Katie.

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“The test’s been over for like, ten minutes. You’ve been spaced out this whole time.”

“...Sorry.”

Katie narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on with you? You’re never like this.”

“I lost an arm two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, and that’s another thing,” she continued, not missing a beat. “You were gone for a week and now you’re back and just...what? Fine? I saw you break a door. With your bare hand. Well,” she gestured to the prosthesis. “With your new one.” Shiro didn’t get a chance to chime in. “And  _ another _ thing, this isn’t like  _ any _ prosthesis I’ve ever seen before—”

“Pidge, dude, don’t interrogate the guy,” someone else cut in—Lance, with Hunk trailing close behind. The three had been inseparable since the beginning of the semester.

“Don’t you three have anything better to do than hang out with me after your exam?”

They all glanced at each other.

Lance shrugged. “Not really.”

“You’re kinda like, really cool,” Hunk nodded, matter-of-factly.

“Definitely cooler than my brother.”

Shiro smiled bashfully. “Katie, don’t be rude.”

“Anyway, we were worried about you,” she mumbled. “Or whatever.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” he lied, smile softening. He didn’t need to tell them that he had been experimented on by some kind of cult, that he had a god sealed up inside his right arm that was being held at bay with lots and lots and  _ lots _ of magic, or that he was kind of maybe crushing on a witch. The important thing was, any danger he was in was being managed. With magic, but again, there was no need to share that crucial bit. “I was worse off after the accident than was initially thought. I had to take a little more time off to finish recovering, and now I’m fine. A little distracted, kind of traumatized, and short one limb, but, you know. Fine.”

None of them looked like they were  _ quite _ convinced.

“A whole door, Shiro. You just tore it right off like it was  _ nothing _ .”

...Yeah he couldn’t come up with anything to combat that _and_ sound plausible.

“The world is full of mysteries?”

……...Yeah, that did  _ not _ sound plausible, and the undergrad’s faces told him that much. He’d never been a very good liar. He also didn’t have much else to offer, because there was no way he was going to tell them the  _ truth _ . That was even more unbelievable than any other bullshit he could make up for them. He refused to offer any other explanation, ignoring the raised eyebrows. Shiro gathered up the exams stacked on the desk in front of him.

“Alright, not to kick you guys out or anything, but I’ve got to go, and there’s another class coming in here for exams in twenty minutes.”

With that, he gave a quick goodbye and tried not to look like he was in a hurry as he left the room, heaving a sigh of relief once he was out of that awkward situation. The trio were great and all, Shiro would even go as far as to say they were his favorite students (though he hadn’t had that many), but the  _ last _ thing he needed was the three of them getting mixed up in the nonsense that his personal life had become. That would be a recipe for disaster, and he’d had quite enough of that already.

 

***

 

The universe, of course, had decided otherwise.

As soon as he arrived at Marmora, Keith was on him, practically dragging him to the back room with hard eyes.

“We have to do something, and fast.”

Shiro could only blink at Keith, who was staring up at him like  _ he  _ had any of the answers. “About my arm, or…?”

“Yeah, that,” Keith replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “And… Last night.”

_ Oh.  _ Shiro thought he knew where this might be going. Or, where he  _ hoped _ it was going, at least.

“When you left, I noticed that there was someone watching us. Watching  _ you _ .” He began pacing, and Shiro quickly buried any disappointment he felt. “It was probably someone from the Galra. We need to be more careful—and speed up our progress on figuring out how the hell to get whatsisname out of your arm.”

“Zarkon.”

“Whatever.” He stopped suddenly, hands on his hips. “Maybe you should just stay here. That way I’ll be able to keep an eye on your arm all the time,  _ and _ make sure the Galra don’t try anything.”

“Stay? Here?” Shiro repeated dumbly—he could make a bulleted list of all the problems he had with that, his love for his bed being the first, and his burgeoning crush being the second. Staying under the same roof as Keith for any extended amount of time seemed like it was just a recipe for Shiro to make a complete fool out of himself.

Keith nodded, unperturbed, as always. His efficiency was as intimidating as it was admirable. “It’ll be safer. Plus, I can even get Ulaz and the others to come over, too. Extra  protection.”

“The more the merrier,” he muttered under his breath, slowly realizing that he didn’t really have much choice in the matter—Keith had already made up his mind, and, well… Shiro couldn’t honestly say that he would feel safe at home, knowing that there were weird cultists  _ watching _ him. They’d already taken his arm, who knew what else they would do to him? “I’ll go pack up a duffel bag.”

“I’ll go with you.”

...He supposed he should have known better than to think that Keith would let him go alone, if he was insisting on Shiro staying with him indefinitely. Oh well, no big deal.

“Alright. Shouldn’t take long,” he agreed with a shrug, gesturing for Keith to follow him back out to his car.

It was bound to be the strangest extended sleepover he would ever experience.


	4. Waning

Keith’s futon was surprisingly comfortable, and Shiro couldn’t help but wonder if Keith had cast a spell on it, or if it was just a good futon. Probably the former—he’d never met a futon that didn’t grind a bar (or two) into his back.

But he couldn’t sleep.

Maybe it was being in a new environment, or the weird noises Shiro couldn’t identify (probably didn’t  _ want _ to), or the simple fact that he couldn’t stay in his own apartment because there was a cult watching him and maybe waiting for the opportunity to finish what they’d started—any of these explanations, or a combination of them, was possible and entirely reasonable. Regardless, he was still awake when three a.m. rolled around, staring at the glow in the dark stars on the living room ceiling. Keith seemed to really like these things—they were on the ceiling of every room. He hadn’t seen Keith’s bedroom, of course, but Shiro was willing to bet if he’d even put them in the  _ bathroom _ , they were probably in his own bedroom as well.

He jumped as he saw a shadow dart out from the hallway, letting out a slow breath when he realized it was only Red. “You scared me.” The cat, of course, didn’t reply—she stared at the futon for a moment before she jumped up. “You couldn’t sleep either, huh?” She meowed, and watched Shiro with her wide cat eyes—the light from the streetlamps that bled through the curtains catching on them and making them look like they were glowing yellow. After some deliberation, she stepped closer, pawing at Shiro’s side a bit before she settled down next to him. “And here I thought you didn’t like me,” he teased, giving her a scratch behind the ear. She rumbled a little grumpy sound before she began purring—it seemed in spite of herself, and Shiro chuckled a bit. “Keith too sleepy to give you pets, huh?”

“Merr,” Red hummed in answer, and settled her chin on her paws, closing her eyes.

“You’re magic, or whatever,” Shiro muttered as he continued to pet the cat. “Just what the hell is my life turning into, huh?” He sighed. “What do I  _ do _ ?”

Red only slit her eyes open, glaring at him as if to say  _ shut up and go to sleep, idiot _ , before closing them again with a huff.

“You aren’t any help at all,” he grumbled, Red’s purrs lulling him into drowsiness, and as he closed his eyes, he swore it felt like the cat...chuckled.

 

***

 

He woke up in the morning to the unmistakable smell of breakfast; eggs and sausage.

Apparently, he’d stirred just enough that Keith knew he was awake.

“You and Red seem to have hit it off,” he teased, and Shiro opened his eyes to find the cat nestled happily in the crook of his metal arm.

“Thought she didn’t take to people very fast,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.

Keith shrugged. “You’ve been around a lot. And she’s a pretty good judge of character. She must get some good vibes from you.” Shiro hummed, eyes settling fully on Keith now. Much like the morning in his shop, his hair was messy. Bedhead shouldn’t be that endearing, right? Shiro was weak. The oversized tee shirt he’d slept in hung loose around his collar,  _ and Shiro wasn’t going to stare, nope nope nope, there would be none of that now _ . “Anyways, I made breakfast. Eggs and chorizo.”

Shiro sat up (Red making a disgruntled noise) and stretched. “It smells great.” He made his way to the kitchenette, where a plate was waiting for him at the tiny table.

“So,” Keith began as he claimed the other seat. “How’s your arm feeling?”

He hummed, flexing his prosthetic fingers. “Weird. But like, the normal weird, not ‘oh I’m morphing into a demon or whatever’ weird.”

Keith nodded, taking a bite of his food. “That’s good. The seals are still holding up then—I’ve set them up so they’ll have to be broken kind of gradually, so there’ll be a bit of a ‘heads up’ before you start,” he gestured vaguely at Shiro’s right side with his fork, “changing, again.” Shiro resisted the urge to shudder at the memory of the last time—it was hard to believe that had only been a few short weeks ago. So much had happened, and yet that moment may as well have been yesterday, with how clearly it came back to him.

“What are we going to do next?” Shiro asked as he began to dig into his own meal.

“Well,” Keith swallowed. “As long as the arm is attached to you, the risk of it affecting you is—pretty high. Kolivan thinks it would be best to start focusing on detaching the arm, first, and then, you know. Getting rid of whatsisname—”

“Zarkon.”

“—Whatever, won’t be such a dire situation. If the vessel isn’t attached to a body, he’ll just be stuck in there until we figure out a way to send him back to wherever the hell he came from.”

“Makes sense.”

“Mhmm. It means we can take our time figuring out what to do about your unwelcome guest, but that’s only once we figure out  _ how _ to get the thing off.” He sighed. “It’s fit onto you pretty securely, so we’re really going to have to be careful with our spells.” He rested his chin on his open palm. “Still, figuring that out is bound to go faster than jumping right into the exorcism.”

“Exorcism?”

“You know what I mean.”

He did. Sort of, at least. In medical terms, it would be a lot easier to just hack off the infected limb than to try to flush out the infection. And, in this case, the limb was already  _ gone _ , and had been replaced with the infected bits. At least off of his body, the damn thing wouldn’t be able to do any harm.

“And it’s not as simple as just cutting it off, because there’s absolutely no way I’m going to cut it off. It’s a miracle you didn’t bleed out the first time. It’s stuck to you with magic, and we’re going to figure out how to  _ un _ stick it, and then you’ll be right as rain.”

“More like  _ left _ as rain,” Shiro muttered with a cheeky smile, and Keith nearly choked on his orange juice.

“That’s horrible,” he scolded, fighting back a laugh. “That’s a terrible joke, Jesus Christ.”

“Made you laugh, though.”

 

***

 

When the others showed up, it was a lot more of the same poking and prodding, and conversations he just couldn’t keep up with. After a while he tuned it out, no longer trying to decipher the cryptic jargon, and his gaze settled on Keith. The way his eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted as he concentrated. Kolivan and Thace each had tall stacks of books balanced in their hands (how much could those guys bench, Shiro wondered), while Ulaz flipped through even more next to Shiro at the table. He began to occupy himself by reading the books that Ulaz discarded, though he never made it too far through any of them. All this magic stuff was going over his head. Out of sympathy, Keith slid him a book on astronomy, smiling faintly before he delved back into his research; not astrology,  _ astronomy _ . It was stupid how much that simple act made his heart flutter.

He was in too deep.

“Oh, Jesus,” Thace groaned, “no wonder we weren’t able to recognize the energy—the hag didn’t use  _ magic _ , she’s using  _ alchemy _ .”

Ulaz’s spine went ramrod straight. “How long has she been doing  _ that _ ? Where did she even  _ learn _ ?”

“No time to worry about that,” Kolivan answered with a dismissive wave of his hand, dropping his stack of books onto the table and grabbing his keys. “We’ve gotta start learning it ourselves, and fast. I’ve got some books at my place, I’ll be right back.”

“I should have some, too,” Thace agreed, following after him. Ulaz stood up as well.

“I may as well check my own collection while we’re at it, see if I have anything useful.”

Then, Shiro and Keith were alone again.

Keith watched the three men go, then heaved a sigh, and began picking up the discarded books and scrolls. Shiro stood up to help. “Seems like this is going to get even more complicated.”

“What’s up with alchemy?” Shiro asked, edging closer to Keith. “I mean, is it really that different?” Keith hummed, thinking.

“I don’t know much about it myself,” he finally answered, shrugging. “But essentially it’s like—similar in principle, but much different in practice, you know what I mean?” He took a few books from Shiro’s hands and placed them back in their spot on the shelves (if he had any system of organization in place, Shiro had yet to figure it out). “Like, the way we do magic is much more focused on  _ intention _ . It can get a little particular when you get to higher-level magic, but for the most part there’s a lot of room for improvisation and ingenuity. Alchemy is  _ much _ more rigid. You can only work with the materials you have. I mean, it was the precursor to modern chemistry. You’d probably have a ball with it.”

“It seems like your way is the way to go, though, if there’s so much wiggle room,” Shiro speculated.

Keith pulled a face. “Well, for as much of it’s a pain in the ass, it’s also—a lot more  _ durable _ than your regular variety spell-casting.”

“Oh.” Shiro glanced down to his arm. “ _ Oh _ .”

“Mmhm,” Keith replied, lips pursed. “So we’re going to have to figure out how to do alchemy, and how to do it  _ correctly _ , or...well, who knows what might happen to you.”

“That’s not particularly comforting.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Shiro,” Keith snickered. “I like you too much.”

Shiro laughed, and hid his flush by turning to put away another book. “Yeah, I like you, too.”

“I bet you weren’t expecting that, huh,” Keith teased, nudging him with his shoulder, before taking the book Shiro had just put away and moving it to wherever it was supposed to go according to...however Keith kept track of them. “Befriending a witch?”

Man, he didn’t even know the half of it. “Yeah? And I bet you didn’t think you’d warm up with a physicist.”

“The  _ astro _ part is the only thing that gave you a chance,” he quipped dryly, his eyes betraying the warmth he tried to hide. Shiro smirked, leaning just the slightest bit closer.

“Oh? So you’ve got a thing for nerds?”

“Guess you could say I have a type,” he replied, mouth curling into a smirk. Before Shiro had any chance to follow up on that, though, the bell for the shop’s front door rang. Probably Ulaz, Thace, and Kolivan back with their books. Keith and Shiro pushed aside the curtain to greet them, but the trio standing across the room wasn’t the one he expected. He yelped and ducked back behind the curtain.

“Shiro?” Pidge called out, but Shiro didn’t even get a chance to respond before there were footsteps dashing toward the back room, Keith shouting a quick “Hey!” before Lance threw open the curtain.

“ _ Dude _ ,” he gaped. “It  _ is _ you.”

Shiro sighed. No hiding now. “Yeah, yeah. How’d you even find me here?”

“Lance just wanted to check it out,” Hunk confessed, earning an embarrassed scowl from his friend. “We’ve heard—rumors, you know.” He glanced at Keith, then away quickly. Shiro heaved another sigh, gently guiding Lance away from the back room with a hand on his shoulder.

“Regardless, you aren’t allowed back there.”

Pidge squinted at him. “Hmm,  _ interesting _ . What exactly were  _ you _ doing back there, Shirogane?”

“Keith and I are friends,” he answered quickly, ears growing hot under the girl’s keen stare. “I’ve been spending a lot of time here.” He paused. “Which totally  _ doesn’t _ ruin my credibility as a scientist, by the way.”

She hummed again, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not so sure.”

“I’ve got very good reasons.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“ _ Yes _ .” He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. He sounded like a six-year-old.

“...Well, what are they?” Lance asked, curiously.

“Yeah, I’m kind of dying to know, now,” Hunk added, poking at one of the pendulums on display and watching it swing back and forth, casting little spots of light on the walls as the sun caught it.

“I...can’t tell you.”

Keith rolled his eyes, and grabbed Shiro’s right hand, raising it high. “His arm is haunted.”

The three teenagers stared at them for a long moment, before bursting into shouts.

“No way!”

“You’re joking.”  
“Ghosts aren’t even—” Pidge paused mid-sentence, mulling something over. “Well... that might explain…”

“...Pidge, don’t tell me you’re falling for this. It’s obviously some kind of prank this mullet guy is helping Shiro pull on us.”

Keith’s face went beet red. “ _ Mullet guy _ ?”

...Shiro decided not to comment on that. “It’s true, guys. My weird new arm? Woke up with it after the accident. It’s possessed, or something.”

“ _ Or something _ ,” Keith muttered, just loud enough that Shiro could catch it. He gave the witch a nudge—it wasn’t like he could explain the full scope of the situation to the other three. They were just kids. Also, his students. He really wanted to separate his personal life from his academics, and that was already hard enough with Pidge being the younger sibling to his friend and classmate. He didn’t really need to drag the three of them into the whole  _ attacked by cult, attached to arm housing a demon/god/Whatever _ thing. They’d be better off not knowing.

They weren’t going to have any of that, though, and honestly, Shiro should have expected as much. Keith seemed to be on the same page. He sighed, glancing at Shiro with a look that oozed resignation. “Come on back,” he said, waving them over. “You look so lost I can’t stand it, and god knows this is a  _ long _ story.”

 

***

 

When the three older witches returned, they were surprised to see three  _ more _ people sitting around the table.

Shiro was just as surprised, if he were being totally honest, though he took it in stride. The last three weeks had more than perfected his ability to adapt to any situation. It didn’t help that he was tired, and didn’t have the energy involved in making up some kind of plausible story to tell his students at this point—so he didn’t bother. Not this time. They knew his arm was possessed. Whatever. When he really put it into perspective with the rest of the totally bizarre shit he’d experienced over the last month, this particular encounter didn’t even make the top five.

“I see we have more company,” Ulaz ventured, clearly uncertain.

“They’re friends of Shiro’s,” Keith explained. “Kind of. Anyway, they ran into him here on accident, and the cat’s sort of out of the bag, so we figured, hey, why not let them help. I mean, they’re probably useless—”

“Hey!” Lance protested, but Keith just plowed right on forward.

“ _ But _ , more hands can’t hurt. They’re science students, so they might know a thing or two that could help us. Otherwise,” he shrugged. “May as well let them hang out. They’ll be able to keep Shiro company, at any rate.” With that, he stood up and joined the witches, wasting no time in getting right back to work, instantly engrossed in the books the older men had brought to study. Shiro sighed, practically draping himself across the table, chin resting in the nest of his arms.

“So, you’ve had a weird month,” Hunk piped up, propping his elbows on the table as he thumbed through one of the books the witches had discarded earlier. “Developed some weird interests.”

“It was out of necessity,” Shiro replied, exhausted. “It was the only way I could think of to deal with a possessed arm.”

Lance was inspecting the arm in question, suspicious. “I always thought this thing was unusual. Not like any prosthesis  _ I’d _ ever seen.” Shiro only hummed, flexing the metal fingers thoughtfully.

“Yeah, it is really strange. Think we can open it up, take a peek in there?”

“Not sure if that’s such a good idea,” Shiro muttered. “Last time we had it open, things got—bad.”

The three undergrads glanced at one another. “Bad how?”

“Like it wasn’t just the  _ arm _ that was possessed,” he answered. “And we’ve—messed with it a little since then, but...I don’t know. Keith’s the only one who really has any idea what to do if it happens again. And I—” he paused, glancing away. “Really,  _ really _ don’t want it to happen again.” Slowly, they nodded in understanding. He smiled faintly, and stretched the arm out to hunk. “You can take a closer look at the outside, though, if you want.”

All three of them were eager to do so, examining all the little segments and joints.

“The inside’s not all that exciting, anyway,” he confessed as his students gently moved his arm around, wiggled his fingers, got a sense of how the parts worked. “There’s not much in there—nothing that would explain how realistic it is, or how I can control it so well.” Shiro sighed, embarrassed at what he was about to say. It was one thing to accept it for himself, another thing entirely to say it, out loud, to his students—or anyone who wasn’t well-acquainted with the supernatural. “It’s magic. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...that’s the only explanation.” He paused. “And that  _ definitely _ doesn’t ruin my credibility as a scientist.”

Pidge shrugged. “We’ve got no reason not to believe you, unbelievable as all this may be.” She abandoned looking at the prosthesis, turning her attention back to Shiro. “You said that this cult or whatever has been like, following you? Are you going to be safe going home?”

“Right,” he muttered. “About that. I’m actually staying here for that exact reason.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“It’s not like that.” Pidge was eyeing him knowingly, looking over to Keith occasionally.

“ _ Mmhmm _ . I totally believe you. It’s not like he’s totally your type. And it’s not like you’ve been following him around like a puppy the whole time we’ve been here. And you stare at him a lot. You’re not very subtle, Shiro.”

That got Lance’s attention. “What? You’re crushing on  _ that _ guy? Seriously?” Shiro hushed him sharply, and Lance lowered his voice to a whisper. “He’s a total jerk.”

“Yeah, he’s a little scary. Like, total ‘will turn you into a frog if you cross him’ type.”

Shiro couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, yeah, he is. But, I mean, the barbs are all surface-level. He’s actually really sweet, you know, once you get to know him a little.” Lance didn’t look convinced. Neither did Hunk, though he seemed significantly more open to the idea. Pidge was just grinning like the cheshire cat. She was going to use this against him, he  _ knew _ it. Katie Holt was an absolute  _ gremlin _ whenever she found dirt on anyone. He couldn’t even fault her for this one, the whole situation was just ridiculous.

“An astrophysicist and a witch,” Hunk muttered, as if he’d read it on Shiro’s face. “Sounds like something from a romance novel. Kinda cute, actually.” Shiro buried his face in his hands to hide his flush. “What! It is!” He was looking between Shiro and Keith with a shrewd gaze. “Yeah. Yeah, I can see it.” Slowly, Lance’s frown disappeared, as he followed Hunk’s lead.

“Should we be wingmen?”

“No please,” Shiro begged. “I’m your instructor. And you already know way too much about my personal life as it is without getting involved in—in my romantic—ugh.”

“Yup,” Lance nodded. “He needs wingmen.”

“ _ No _ , no wingmen.”

“More like no  _ fun _ .”

Shiro rubbed at his face with his flesh hand, exasperated, though he had trouble not smiling. This was one source of stress that was at least  _ somewhat _ normal. “You three are going to be the death of me.”

“Better than your arm ghoul, right?” Lance joked, smiling wickedly. “Besides, I’ve always thought you’d be way less uptight if you could just get—”

“Nope,” Shiro covered his mouth quickly, face burning hot. “None of that.”

Lance rolled his eyes, but took the note to behave.

The research carried on long into the night, long enough that Shiro had to kick Lance, Pidge and Hunk out of the store to get home—he knew for a fact they had and nine a.m. class the next morning with Coran. When Kolivan nudged him awake, it was going on three in the morning, and he’d fallen asleep at the table, trying to make something out of any of the alchemical texts they’d brought over.

“You should head to bed. We’re going to stop for the night.” Keith was still hunched over the books, bookmarking pages liberally. He must have found some things that could be useful. “You can try to talk him into going to sleep, too, but the odds aren’t in your favor. He’s stubborn as a mule.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he replied with a chuckle, his voice still rough with sleep. He sat up and stretched, working out the kinks in his back after sleeping hunched over. “I’ll see what I can do.”

To his surprise, Kolivan actually smiled. Just a little bit, but it was unmistakable. “Thank you. He needs to rest.” Shiro nodded, and watched as the three men left before he made his way over to Keith.

“You look like you’re going to keel over any second now.” Keith only grunted. “We should head to bed.”

“Ulaz,” Keith began, eyelids drooping. “He said someone got in touch with him. One of his ‘people on the inside.’” His mouth curled into a scowl as he continued to flip through the book in his lap, eyes trailing over the pages blearily. “They couldn’t say much, because they  _ never _ can, that would just be too convenient—”

“Keith.” Shiro rested a hand on Keith’s shoulder, the other man’s eyes slowly rising to meet his own. “What did they say?”

He huffed softly, and finally closed the book. “There’s something significant about—about the new moon. That’s probably when they’re going to complete,” he trailed off, and gestured to Shiro, his arm. “You know. This fucking ritual.”

The new moon. “That’s in a week.”

“Less than that,” Keith muttered, rubbing at his face. “We’re running out of time.” He huffed. “There’s no  _ time _ .” His voice was thick, and Shiro buried his surprise, wrapping his fingers loosely around Keith’s wrist, but not pulling his hand away from his face.

“It’s going to be okay. With all of us working together, we’ll find a way to fix this. But you aren’t going to be able to do much if you don’t get some sleep.” Keith huffed, shaking his head lightly, but after a moment he dropped his hands to his lap. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one taking care of you,” Keith deadpanned, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. Nonetheless, he took the hand Shiro offered, letting himself be pulled up, stumbling into Shiro’s chest. “Legs are a little bit asleep. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shiro replied, steadying Keith with his hands on his shoulders, desperately willing himself not to blush at their close proximity. “And, hey, you might be the one with the magic powers or whatever, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look out for you, too.”

To his surprise, Keith lurched forward, bunting his head against Shiro’s shoulder, and just leaned there like that, taking steady, deep breaths. “Thanks, Shiro,” he murmured, after a long moment. He hesitated before he combed his fingers gently through Keith’s hair.

“No problem,” he murmured, definitely blushing now. “Come on. You’re gonna fall asleep before we even get up the stairs at this rate.” Keith only hummed, but followed Shiro up the steps to his apartment. “I don’t know how you expected to keep working when you’re this exhausted.”

“I promised you that I was going to get you out of this mess, and I meant it,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t break my promises.”

Shiro chuckled, pushing open the door. “Fair enough. But you still have to take care of yourself.”

Keith yawned. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s what you’re here for.”

His blush only deepened at that. “I guess I don’t have any choice. Can’t let you work yourself to death.”

“Wouldn’t be much good to you, then.”  
“Mm. Mostly I would miss your sharp wit and inappropriately timed mac and cheese benders.”

“It’s always an appropriate time for mac and cheese.”  
“I’d beg to differ.” Keith kicked off his shoes, and didn’t even bother to get undressed before flopping onto the futon unceremoniously. “...Can’t make it to your bed.” The witch shrugged, or Shiro thought he was shrugging.

Slowly, Keith turned so Shiro could see his face, curling up in a little ball on the futon. “There’s so little time before… Before whatever they have planned. What if they come here for you?”

“It’s going to be fine.”

Keith’s eyes were only half-open, barely willing himself to stay awake. “I’m scared, Shiro. I don’t...want anything bad to happen to you.” Slowly, Shiro nodded, and took his place beside Keith, laying down to face him.

“Okay. Then we’ll both sleep out here.”

“Okay,” Keith sighed, eyes finally fluttering shut. “If you die, I won’t forgive you.”

Shiro couldn’t help a short laugh. “Noted.” Keith was already asleep, but he still whispered his “Goodnight,” into the quiet apartment before he gave in to sleep himself.


	5. New

They didn’t wake up snuggled together like in cheesy romantic comedies, but Shiro did wake up to Keith asleep on the other side of the futon, dark hair fanned out around his head and face soft and peaceful, and he sort of wanted to just melt into the floor because, well, shit, it was way too early to be getting heart palpitations.

That week passed in a strange, stilted haze. It was the muted anxiety of getting through exams, and then hanging out with a small gang of witches while they tried a crash course in alchemy, of all things. Hunk, Pidge, and Lance stopped by a lot more, curious, and probably more than a little concerned. Shiro couldn’t blame them—for all he’d said to Keith to reassure him that everything would be okay, he had no way to be that certain (aside from his total, complete, probably foolishly biased faith in Keith).

Keith pretended to be annoyed by their presence, but Shiro caught him laughing at their bickering and antics when he thought no one was paying attention.

They certainly added an air of normalcy that Shiro deeply appreciated, under the circumstances.

 

***

 

It wasn’t that all the practice wasn’t  _ working _ .

“Patience, Keith.”

But, as it turned out, trying to learn an entirely new magic method in a week was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone.

“We don’t have  _ time _ for patience!”

But if anyone could get a stone to bleed, Shiro was pretty sure Keith would. Or die trying.

“Getting frustrated is only going to make it harder.”

Keith grumbled, rolling his eyes, and Shiro sighed. “Don’t know how anybody can deal with drawing all these fucking circles whenever they want to do anything. It’s so inefficient.”

“I think you’re just grumpy because you haven’t managed to transmute anything yet.” He laughed as he was pelted with a pillow.

Thus far, Keith had proven himself pretty adept at fixing things that were broken, but hadn’t had any luck in turning something into something else, which was sort of the core...thing, with alchemy, at least if Shiro remembered Fullmetal Alchemist correctly.

“I mean, you change stuff with your regular magic all the time,” Shiro started. “I don’t see why you can’t just do that.”

“That’d be like trying to dissolve super glue with paint thinner,” Keith muttered. “They just aren’t compatible. Might as well lop your arm off with an ax.”

Shiro paled. “Right. Yeah, okay, alchemy it is, then.”

 

***

 

“You like him.”

Shiro glanced up from the book he’d been engrossed in to see that Kolivan was staring at him. Through him. He was getting goosebumps. Glancing around, he realized they were the only two in the room—the others must have gone to get more...chalk, or something.

Well, he wasn’t stupid. There was really only one person Kolivan could be talking about.

“Uh.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah, of course I like him. Keith’s a pretty—”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Fuck. “So, is this where you give me, like, the shovel talk?”

“The—what?” Kolivan blinked, but then just shook his head. “Kids. I just wanted to give you fair warning that you’ll regret if you do anything to hurt him.”

Yup, shovel talk. “Noted, sir.”

The bell at the front of the shop jingled. “Hey,” Keith called, “can we get a little help?” Shiro had never been so eager to carry books.

 

***

 

“You’re sure you don’t want us to walk you over there?”

Shiro fought the urge to roll his eyes. Even his students were getting paranoid on his behalf, now.

“Yeah, isn’t it like, down to the wire with that cult, or whatever?”

Their exam had just ended, and they were already fussing over him. He began tucking the test sheets into their envelope and slid it into his bag.

“It’s two blocks away, and it’s broad daylight, guys. I’ll be okay walking by myself. You guys have more exams to be studying for, so don’t worry about me.”

None of them looked convinced, giving him these wide, concerned eyes. He sighed.

“I’ll be fine. I promise. It’s a two-minute walk.”

They were reluctant, but let him go—he could be just as stubborn as certain other people he could think of, when he put his mind to it. He gathered up his things and left the building. It was a crisp spring morning, and Shiro was actually looking forward to that quiet two minutes. He had to gather his thoughts. As he set off toward Marmora, Shiro could already feel his heart pounding.

He was going to tell Keith about his massive crush.

He was going to ask him on a real date.

He was….going to throw up.

As if it could sense Shiro’s sudden lack of dread for the future, his right arm pulsed, pain shooting up through his shoulder. He slapped his hand over it, as if he could hold Zarkon at bay by sheer force of will.

Nothing happened.

He lifted the collar of his shirt—his skin was just his skin, the arm looked...well, the same way it usually did, if not “normal.”

Huh. Maybe he was getting the hang of controlling this thing.

And then there was a hard blow to the back of his head, and he was out cold.

 

***

 

When he woke up, it was dark.

No, he thought after a moment, not  _ dark _ . There was a bag over his head, rough, maybe burlap. His hands and feet were bound, too. How typical. He almost forgot to be scared.

Which he had very, very good reason to be, because this could only be the Galra’s doing. He stayed quiet, and began picking up voices around him.

“...Krolia’s son.”

“Where could he have possibly learned something like  _ this _ ? Do you think this vessel is ruined?”

Vessel?

“Quiet,” a harsh voice snapped. “He has only been  _ weakened _ by the boy, and that can be easily remedied. Now go, check on the vessel. I sense it waking.”

Oh,  _ he _ was the vessel. Yikes. That was pretty objectifying, but Shiro didn’t think the Galra probably cared about that sort of thing.

The bag was yanked away harshly, and Shiro took the opportunity to try and get his bearings—he was in...some kind of warehouse? Evening light was filtering in through the high windows, so that much wasn’t super intimidating.

On the other hand, there were a whole lot more complex-looking chalk circles and lit candles than Shiro was comfortable with.

“So, you’re finally awake,” the man above him snarled, wicked grin crinkling up the scar tissue around where his right eye had been. “Took you long enough. Guess I hit you harder than I thought.”

“Is that an apology?”

“No.”

“Stop talking to it,” the same voice from earlier cut in, practically snarling. “You’re wasting time. We still have preparations to complete.”

“Apologies, Priestess,” the man muttered, stepping away.

“Oh, no, don’t rush on my account,” he managed, receiving a glare from the woman. “Hey, wait—I know you.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re Honerva Zima. You—you were a professor at the Garrison, why—”

“I said  _ silence _ ,” Honerva snapped, “or I’ll have you gagged, too.”

Shiro took that as his cue to keep quiet, and start thinking of a way out of this. By now Keith would know that something was wrong, and he’d be searching for him, but who knew how long that would take, or what protective spells the Galra were using. He couldn’t assume that Keith would make it in time.

As he looked around, he began to recognize a  _ lot _ of the faces around him. Other Garrison alumni, some people he recognized from the police force, the  _ mayor _ . They had ties to the whole infrastructure of the town, which meant—

Which meant they could have been trying to pull this kind of thing off for years, and have it all covered up each time they failed. How many people had been exactly where Shiro was at that moment? He shuddered.

The ropes around his ankles and wrists were tied securely—no getting out of them, unless he could get his hands on something sharp. He peered around to see if there was any broken glass or something on the floor.

“Quit your wriggling,” the one-eyed man snapped. “Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it. Just accept that it’s hopeless. Maybe if you go easily, there won’t be much pain.”

“Pain”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned again, evidently enjoying the whole thing way too much, “the other vessels seemed to be in a great deal of it. Can’t imagine an otherworldly being moving in to occupy a mortal form is a very pleasant experience.”

Shiro remembered the ache, the burning of that first near-transformation in Marmora, and swallowed.

There was absolutely no way he was going to die here. He couldn’t.

His arm throbbed where it connected to the prosthesis.

 

***

 

By the time night had fallen, Shiro was sporting several new bruises. His attempts to escape had gotten a bit more—sloppy, and obvious, after the first hour. He’d panicked.

He was still tied up, and it was starting to look like it was going to stay that way, until he died. Shiro wasn’t usually prone to pessimism, but he was running out of ideas, and time, and the cultists were lighting the candles, which couldn’t mean anything  _ good _ for him.

He fought back as they began dragging him into the biggest circle at the center of the room, but they hardly seemed to notice, and dropped him in the center of the circle so carelessly that it knocked the wind out of him. Fuck. Each cult member took a place at one of the smaller circles that ran the perimeter of the one Shiro was currently lying in, gasping for air as he tried to regain function of his lungs. Unconcerned, they all knelt down in unison, and began chanting, softly at first, then louder and louder, into a crescendo that seemed to shake the very foundation of the building.

Oh, no, it was  _ literally _ shaking. And the lines of the circle were beginning to glow.

And Shiro felt a pain bloom from his right arm more intense than anything else he’d ever felt before, like fire, spreading from the prosthesis and slowly up what remained of his bicep, his shoulder, his neck. He screamed, but he couldn’t even hear himself over the fucking  _ chanting _ . His vision was starting to blur at the edges, and his eyes rolled back in his head as that pain continued to spread, and spread, and he could feel his body  _ contorting _ every second, and the seconds felt like  _ hours _ .

Just before he went under, there was a loud bang, and he just managed to turn his head to see—

“Keith,” he rasped, writing pathetically on the concrete floor. Ulaz, Thace, Kolivan, and maybe a dozen others (he couldn’t tell if there were than many of them or if he was starting to see double) flanked Keith, piling through the warehouse door with wands drawn and ready.

If you told him three weeks ago that he would ever be this happy to see a bunch of people with wands coming to his rescue, Shiro would have laughed in your face. As it was, he was elated, or as elated as he could be while he was still in searing, mind-melting agony. At the very least, Keith and Co.’s arrival had snapped him out of it enough that he wasn’t about to pass out, which seemed to really upset Honerva, which meant it was probably good for him. He tried to wriggle, push himself up off the ground, almost managing it, when a roar of “Get  _ DOWN  _ you worm!” came from the priestess, and he was slammed back to the floor by a force that could only be magic.

Keith and Co.—the Marmorites? Yeah, he liked the sound of that—stormed the warehouse, and a battle began that sounded really epic, but Shiro could only really make out shouts and flashes from his place face-down on the floor. He was rolled over soon enough by none other than Keith, and Shiro swore he looked like an angel, his head haloed by the candlelight and all the blasts of magic. Or, well, maybe he was just a little bit delirious. “You’re going to be okay, Shiro,” he panted, quickly cutting the rope securing Shiro’s wrists and ankles. “You fucking  _ idiot _ , I  _ told _ you to be careful, and you go off  _ alone _ on the day of the new moon—”

“Keith,” he managed again, a fresh wave of agony sweeping over him. “You need to—it’s not  _ safe _ . Your spells, they’ve,” he cut himself off with a pained cry. “Zarkon’s coming out, Keith, and I don’t think we’re gonna be able to keep him in this time.”

“Yes, we can,” Keith snapped. “I still don’t have the alchemy down, but I’ve—I’ve got a stronger seal spell, and a banishing spell that might work—” He winced as Shiro shouted again, placing his hands on his broad chest in an attempt to ground him. “Just hold on, I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go.” Shiro couldn’t find his voice to tell him that there wasn’t time—he could feel that pain all over his body now, it had spread too far—

He hardly had a chance to fire up one of his spells before Honerva was roaring towards them, her hand fucking  _ glowing _ as she readied a spell to attack.

“I won’t let you  _ ruin _ this, you brat,” she hissed, arm rearing back. “Not like your mother did.”

“My mother?” Keith breathed, stunned, before that ball of magic was hurtling right for them.

There was no talking himself out of it—he was a goner anyway, at this point, he might as well make sure Keith got out of there unscathed—Shiro had pushed himself up with a yell, one that wasn’t quite in his voice, like he had two throats, and put himself in between Keith and whatever spell the priestess had hurled at him, and for the second time that day, his whole world went dark.

 

***

 

To Shiro’s surprise, he woke up.

He was in the hospital again, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to catch himself up to speed on what the hell had happened instead of looking down at himself—that much, he remembered, had been a mistake. He’d take stock of his limbs once he had an idea of what he could expect to see.

“Shiro?”

He turned toward the tired voice to see Keith sitting beside his bed in one of the plastic hospital chairs, eyes droopy and red-rimmed, like he was very tired, or like he’d been crying.

Or both.

“Keith,” he breathed, relief swelling in his chest. “You’re okay.”

Keith nodded, managing an exhausted smile. “Yeah. A little beat up, but nothing too serious.”

“What happened?”

He sighed, and shrugged. “The witch—Honerva, she tried to hit me with a, uh, death spell. But you jumped in the way.”

Shiro squinted. Maybe he was dead, after all. Keith being there checked out, but he’d never imagined heaven would be a hospital.

“Your body—it had been pretty much entirely Zarkon, or whatever, at that point, so you were basically. Immortal. At least, that’s the current theory. Everything happened pretty fast.” He sighed again. “You were all...godmode, or whatever, and the spell hit you, and like...absorbed it, I guess. And threw it back in Honerva’s face.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. Didn’t end well for her. And you’ve got this,” he reached forward and gently carded his fingers through Shiro’s bangs, “white streak here. Looks kinda cool, actually. Like some kinda fashion statement or something. Also, your arm came off.”

“Shit.” He looked down at his arm, and sure enough, the weird prosthesis was gone. Just a stump of skin. “How?”

“We think it must have been from the spell when it hit you, like it weakened whatever was keeping it attached to you? We’re looking into it.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.” He paused, uncertain. “So, that’s...that’s it? It’s over?”

Keith shrugged. “Seems like it. Some of the Galra escaped, but we managed to round up most of them and hand them over to the authorities—you know, ones who weren’t apparently affiliated with them, because I guess  _ that’s _ a whole thing—”

“Keith,” Shiro interrupted, smiling. “You’re rambling.”

“Fuck you,” he spat, but there was no bite behind it. In fact, Shiro was surprised to see his eyes getting wet. “ _ Fuck _ you. I was  _ so _ scared, Shiro. All day I’ve been scared. I’m  _ still _ scared.”

“I’m sorry, Keith,” he said, and Keith peered at him suspiciously as he swiped at his eyes. “You’re right. I should have been more careful.” He chewed his lip, but if he were honest, he’d had all the nerves beaten out of him today. “I was just in a hurry because I wanted to ask you something.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, confused. “Ask me… Okay?”

“Do you want to get coffee sometime?” He paused, then clarified, “And not in a 'you’re a witch trying to save me from possessed mobility aids' way.” Keith still seemed uncertain. “Like a date.” The witch’s eyes widened, and his cheeks went red.

“You’re asking me on a date,” he repeated, “ _ now _ ?” To Shiro’s surprise, he burst into laughter, hiding his face in Shiro’s shoulder. “Jesus Christ, your timing is impeccable.”

“Well, I would have asked a  _ little _ sooner, but I was being kidnapped by a cult.”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“...To...to the…?”

“ _ Yes, I want to go on a date with you _ .”

“Oh,” Shiro replied stupidly. “Good. Cool and good.” Keith just beamed at him, still shaking his head.

At that moment, the door burst open, and in came Hunk, Lance, and Pidge, throwing confetti and holding a banner that read HE SAID YES!, and Shiro sort of wanted to be unconscious again.

“Were you just standing out there listening? How...long have you three had that ready?”

“Since we saw you making googly eyes at Keith like, a week ago,” Lance answered, grinning. “Congrats on your date, big guy!”

Then Kolivan appeared in the doorway, his cold stare fixed on Shiro. “What’s all this about a date?”

...Maybe he hadn’t quite escaped death, yet.

 

***

 

By the time the next new moon rolled around, Takashi Shirogane had a nearly-complete thesis (“nearly complete” because he refused to think of all the editing he was going to have to do), a new arm in the works from the bioengineering department (unofficially, of course; Pidge, and Hunk were building it together, and there were still some bugs to work out, but between the three of them and a handful of magic-users, Shiro wasn’t all that worried about it failing), and a boyfriend. All in all, things were really looking up.

Keith, oddly enough, was still determined to figure out alchemy like it had personally done him wrong and by learning it he would be defeating it in combat. So far, he was able to turn two-by-fours into really cute little animal sculptures. His end goal was lead into gold, and Shiro was just barely managing to keep him from exhausting himself in order to attain it. But, well, that was Keith. There was no such thing as “baby steps” with him.

As far as they knew, the Galra had gone silent after Haggar’s death and the disappearance of Zarkon, but the Marmorites—Shiro had referred to Keith’s many guardians that way once and the name had just stuck—were keeping a sharp eye out for any suspicious activity.

Aside from that, their lives had gone back to relative normalcy, with the addition of magic being a thing, but that was only new to Shiro, really, and his trio of nosy students.

He ended up spending a lot of time at Keith’s place—enough that he kept a toothbrush and extra clothes there, enough that he didn’t notice immediately when a photo of himself ended up among Keith’s other pictures. “That’s me.”

“Yes, it is,” Keith had replied lazily, full of the tonkatsu Shiro had cooked for dinner (he’d wanted to show off, and nothing quite beat his grandma’s tonkatsu). “You’re very observant.”

“I just,” he couldn’t quite find the words. “I’m surprised, is all.”

“Why?” Keith asked, almost a scoff. “I put up pictures of everyone who’s important to me.” He gave Shiro a meaningful look, and he was pretty sure his heart stopped for a second or two.

“Keith,” he breathed, making his way slowly over to his boyfriend to cradle his face in his hands, Keith’s cheeks reddening by the second. “I am...so completely…” He couldn’t help it—he grinned. “ _ Bewitched _ by you.”

All he could do was laugh as Keith proceed to pummel him with a pillow—lovingly, of course—the blush still bright on his face.


End file.
